


Um. Well.

by CharlieRoz



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bottom Louis, Dirty Talk, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieRoz/pseuds/CharlieRoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was thinking that maybe you’d actually like to top for once, you know. Just to give it a try.”<br/>“Um. Well...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Um. Well.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Welcome.  
> I'm glad you've come to join me.
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick thing but I'm a sucker for details so it sort of grew.
> 
> Just a bunch of awkward, clumsy, Larry sex.

**Fifteen Days Later.**

 

 

“Harry. Not there. Wait.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I—”

 

“WHOA. Okay, no.”

 

“Sorry! Sorry... Let me just—”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine. Right. A little—OW!”

 

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

 

Harry’s face is on _fire._ He’s never been so embarrassed in his life. This is just sad. Thankfully, Louis is being a good sport about the whole thing. After all, he hasn’t kicked Harry out of the bed yet, which is a good sign, considering all that’s happened so far.

 

“Move your leg,” Louis commands. He’s waiting kindly enough, with only the very beginning signs of impatience showing through in the corners of his lips. Harry does, and ends up jostling Louis on the creaky mattress in an awkward way—oh, who is he kidding, this whole _thing_ is awkward. At least, now he’s not in Louis’ crotch anymore.

 

He doesn’t dare move in fear of screwing something else up, so he awaits further instructions. Louis is biting the inside of his lip and reaches down between his legs to cup himself, still in pain from when Harry accidentally kneed him. His eyes are shut for a second then he opens them to look around, watching Harry cautiously.

 

“Can you control those deer legs?” Louis asks, a little teasingly, a little serious. Harry ducks his head and mumbles.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Louis sighs, patting him on the head. “Stop saying that.”

 

“I’m horrible,” Harry whines, sitting back on his knees to cover his face. “Maybe we should just stop.” Louis doesn’t say anything for a second, which Harry takes as a confirmation, so he starts to scoot himself away. Louis sits up and grabs his upper arm, trying to look into his eyes.

 

“We don’t have to... do _everything_ ,” Louis suggests, giving him what he hopes is a disarming smile. “Do you just wanna try something?” He says it low, rough, in the tone that’s always enabled him to get his way with Harry. Harry can’t help but groan at it, for a multitude of reasons, and he pauses, even if only to hear him out. And, of course, Louis smirks, because as usual he gets his way.

 

“Like what?” Harry sighs dejectedly. This is supposed to be a fantastic night. He bought Louis flowers, cooked and served him dinner on the candlelit porch outside, and made the house absolutely spotless. This was a night he planned a two weeks ago, checking and rechecking his parent’s schedules and sucking up to them this past week to ensure their leave for the night and morning. They’re going to be gone from eight PM tonight to eleven AM tomorrow, with no desire to return early aside from a life-threatening emergency. Even Harry’s older sister is away at college with midterms so she won’t be able to think about popping in for a surprise visit.

 

This is the golden opportunity for him. He and Louis have been openly dating for six months now and their relationship is great. Perfect, at most times. And around two months ago, Harry allowed Louis to take his virginity. They’ve been friends for years and more recently have been making eyes at each other until one day the tension was broken (it snapped; exploded), they kissed (made out for hours), and Harry practically begged Louis to be his boyfriend (accurate). It was only natural progress that things would get more serious as time went on.

 

Louis is older by nearly two years (although that hardly seems to matter with anyone, including Harry’s parents who simply adore Louis) so that meant that, naturally, Louis is the one who initiates most things, given his experience and the two extra years of confidence building. It’s also just because that’s how their personalities work. Harry is submissive, quieter, a pleaser. Louis, however, is bold, sassy, and likes his control. Bossing people around is one of his many talents. He can charm Harry into doing anything he wants. (A testament to that is when Louis saw a nice pair of jeans— _“Harry, oh my god, would you look at these? I’ll die if I don’t have them. They’re perfect! My ass would look_ incredible _in these!”_ —and gave his best puppy eyes at Harry and somehow persuade him into spending over a hundred dollars on pants that Louis maybe wore twice because, _“I don’t want to ruin them. They’ll fade in the washer, and you know how I’m accident-prone.”_ ) But maybe Harry is sort of smitten by him, and doesn’t really mind.

 

Tonight was going to be the night where Louis let Harry have the reigns, and he was going to be the one to lie on his back (both figuratively and literally). So far, Harry is just proving to the both of them that he isn’t capable of taking the lead. What good is he if Louis is the one who always has to do all the work? He isn’t only disappointing himself, but is also feeling like he’s letting Louis down.

 

“Like, maybe,” Louis begins, coaxing Harry out of his reverie with his familiar voice and smooth petting to his arms. “You could give me a hand job?” That should make Harry even more flustered, yet it doesn’t. The way Louis nicely proposes it, with that little high pitch of a question mark at the end hooking up the statement, and the way he scrunches up his nose and tilts his head is so ludicrously innocent compared to what he’s actually implying that Harry has to laugh. Too adorable.

 

When his giggles stop, he lets out a breath again. “I guess,” he shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his old sheets, “But I’ve done that.” Louis’ hands land on his thighs and he squeezes them just enough to get his attention.

 

“Not alone,” Louis says. “We’re always doing it at the same time. It’s different if you’re just doing it to me.” Harry’s shoulders raise again, a tiny smile ghosting over his lips. Louis really is something.

 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, glancing up to catch Louis switching between his mouth and eyes. There’s a second before the anticipation gets to be too much and Harry lunges at him, smashing into him so hard and uncoordinatedly that their noses crash together. Louis pulls back and falls back onto the bed, raising and eyebrow and holding his nose.

 

“Harry, calm down,” he laughs, rolling his eyes. “Kiss me properly. Don’t try to reenact your cheesy movies.” Harry re-blushes at that because, well... Louis hit the nail on the head. Sometimes, Harry thinks, Louis might know him _too_ well.

 

Harry’s heart beats faster again, anxious about even leaning over Louis to get to his mouth because apparently he can’t even do that today. Just to be clear, Harry’s not bad at sex. Not at all. Even if Louis didn’t tell him (like he does every time), he knows enough to recognize the signs of a strong orgasm and an utterly wrecked body. And constantly looking for hidden places or small windows of opportunity to have a quick fuck is a good sign, too. It’s just that, apparently, Harry is bad at being anything but a bottom. And that’s kind of sad.

 

This time, he doesn’t kick Louis in the balls or pinch his sides— he’s able to bend over and kiss the breath out of him without any injury. Louis starts his signature make-out-moans, as Harry likes to call them. Louis is vocal about everything, and the neat thing about his sex noises is that they’re all different depending on what they’re doing. While they’re kissing, he sighs heavily a lot and sometimes they’re mixed with deep growls from the back of his throat or slipped high-pitch whines.

 

There’s a steady counterbalance of both of them, and Louis wastes no time with bringing his hands to Harry’s hair and tugging and tangling in it. The nails on the back of his scalp make Harry shiver and he melts into Louis’ mouth. This is what he knows. This is what he knows he’s _good at._ Kissing Louis never gets boring, either. He has a very talented tongue.

 

“Harry,” Louis whines, dragging their mouths together and taking a nip at Harry’s bottom lip. Usually, this would be the time that Louis would flip them around, climb on top of Harry and grind their hips together, while concurrently reaching between them to rub one out. This time, Louis bucks up into him and does nothing else, urging Harry to do it. Harry gulps.

 

He fumbles with the zipper of his jeans and it ends up getting caught in his boxers— thank god not on his dick— so he lets them be and tries not to think about this other mishap. Luckily, Louis’ all but naked, with only his dainty, tight-fitting black undershorts left. Louis just likes to get his clothes off as fast as he can. He claims he gets too hot and that the fabric gets too itchy when all he wants to feel is Harry’s body (his words). Harry’s not going to start complaining about that.

 

Harry doesn’t want to waste time getting himself undressed. At least, not yet. So he carefully spreads his knees underneath Louis’ thighs for security and starts to kiss Louis’ neck, peppering him with bites and small hickeys. One of Louis’ hands escapes his even-curlier, even-messier mane to slide up his shoulder and hold him, breathing half-words of encouragement.

 

Harry keeps reminding himself, _This is nothing different. It’s what you do all the time._ For some reason it does little to comfort him. Why is he so nervous anyway? This is foreplay! He should consider himself a pro.

 

He doesn’t, and probably actually _shouldn’t._ His stupid hands are shaking when they reach down to grab Louis’ shorts and he fumbles with them as he has imagines himself doing similarly with a girl’s bra. He’s never had to go through that problem and he doesn’t plan on it, but for some reason his fingers aren’t doing what he wants them to and they hardly have enough of a grip to roll the fabric down his thighs. The elastic waistband slips a few times between his fingertips as he has to wiggle his his hands behind Louis to aid in getting the shorts over his ass. Louis has a nice ass— and Louis knows it, which is why he’s lifting up his hips off the bed to try to help out a little—and its lush volume just gets in the way sometimes. Today it’s not really helping.

 

By the time Harry manages to get the shorts to his knees, it feels like ten minutes have gone by. He barely has the energy to remove his shielded face from Louis’ neck in order to move out of the way so Louis can kick them the rest of the way off.  When he does, his eyes check Louis’ face for signs of any displeasure. He’s biting his lip and staring at Harry like the seductress he is, and lets Harry’s hair go so that he can move. When Harry sits up, he can see that Louis still managed to get half-hard already, which he really loves Louis for because that’s just great—it makes him feel that he’s not a complete failure and turning off his boyfriend.

 

He smiles at that, ducking out of the way of Louis’ legs flinging off the last garment he’s wearing. Instantly, a glint in Louis’ eyes gleams out of the blue as he watches Harry openly, knowing just how good he looks and how much of an effect he has on Harry.

 

He smirks and teasingly runs his forefinger over the top of one of his pecs, raising an eyebrow as Harry openly stares. “Like what you see, big boy?” Louis whispers in what he likes to call his Marilyn Monroe voice. Harry rolls his eyes, hangs his head and moans pathetically. “Oh,” Louis perks up happily, tilting his head, “You do? Do you want a chance to test out the merchandise?”

 

The memories that flood Harry’s mind makes the laugh he has come out choked and wobbly. Now he’s straining painfully hard against his skinnies and every move he makes rubs him, in a good and bad way, simultaneously. He has adrenaline, now, and excitement is buzzing in his bones. He can already feel his head cloud with pictures and sensations to experience. 

 

“I thought you liked to drive a stick shift?” Louis teases, nudging Harry in the side with his toe, unable to hold his laughter in at his own joke. Harry lightly slaps him on his thigh and leans forward on his arms, hovering close to Louis’ face. Louis’ humorous expression flattens to one of confidence and expectation, challenging Harry directly with his eyes. “Well,” he simply says, gliding his hands up the back of Harry’s shirt, scratching his nails ever so gently. Chills flood up Harry’s spine.

 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, closing his eyes for a second. He dips his head down and kisses under Louis’ jaw on his sensitive spot and tentatively brings his palm to the hardness between Louis’ legs. He gasps, arching into Harry’s touch. Louis is a bit dramatic so it’s hard to tell if his reactions are totally genuine, and if they’re not Harry can’t ever really bring himself to mind all that much. It at least means that Louis cares about him enough to exaggerate to make Harry feel good about himself.

 

The feel of Louis hot and pulsing in his hand never ceases to amaze him, either, and he feels himself twitch. With one more lick to Louis’ ear he sits up again, lazily curling his hand around Louis’ base and stroking upward. Louis digs his nails into his shoulder blades and grapples at him, tearing at his shirt. “You better get that off now. God, Harry, wanna touch you so bad. I want to see you move on top of me.”

 

First, Harry’s hand tightens. Louis’ breath cuts off in a hiss and, instead of rolling forward like they previously were, his hips jerk back away from Harry. Then, Harry lets him go completely to wiggle out of his shirt. That, of course, results in more pain than anyone else in the world has experienced in doing such a simple task.

 

Pulling his lanky arm through the sleeve causes his elbow to jut out and hit Louis in the face, and Louis’ catlike reflexes surface lightning-quick. He blindly slaps Harry in the neck and the momentum, along with the lack of stability from the dark cocoon Harry’s head is enveloped in, he falls roughly on top of Louis and smashes his nose into Louis’ collarbone while hitting his head on Louis’ mouth on the way down. He frantically shoves the shirt off and glances wide-eyed at Louis, apologies beginning to spill from his lips.

 

Louis just laughs.

 

“Oh, _Harry,_ ” he giggles, tenderly touching his lip, “Only you can go from touching my dick to punching me in the face in the matter of a second, and _still_ manage to look cute while doing it.” Harry’s guilt tumbles out anyway and he blushes harder, switching between Louis’ eyes and the swollen, red bump on the corner of his mouth. “Harry, seriously, stop. Do you see me leaving? Am I pushing you away?”

 

“... Well, you did hit me,” Harry mumbles, trying to lighten up the mood for himself.

 

“That was after you freaking elbowed me in the mouth,” Louis laughs, smiling incredibly fondly up at Harry. “I’m fine. See?” he says, removing his hand. The areas of impact are only an irritated pink now, and it makes Harry feel a _little_ better. “Now,” he smirks, pinching Harry’s nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make him whimper, “If you’ll stop abusing me, I think I’d like you to fuck me.” Harry swallows. “That okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry nods fast, “Yeah, if you still want me to, I mean. I know—”

 

Louis shuts him up by bringing him down, pushing himself up, and crashing their mouths together. He swallows up every protest from the source. Harry is dazed and floating when Louis pulls away, eyes still closed for seconds after they’re parted. Louis falls back onto the pillow and Harry rests their foreheads together.

 

“Think you can take your pants off without breaking any bones?” Louis whispers, petting Harry’s chest and tracing the thinly raised welts over his back. Harry isn’t going to respond to that, because he hates breaking promises, and only god knows how this’ll end up. 

 

He doesn’t mean to, though he doesn’t really see any harm in it, when he pulls off his boxers along with his jeans. They’re still stuck in his zipper and it’d cause more trouble than it’s worse to try to get them out. Somehow, he gets through the task of undressing with only the squeaky bouncing of the bed and twitchy limbs. He isn’t half as graceful as Louis was—while they were making out earlier, as things just got started, Louis threw off his clothes with claims to want to be entirely open for Harry (which was really sweet because he picked up on Harry’s nerves without stating them). He was so swift and adroit that Harry barely noticed, considering they only had to break apart for a mere single second, and when he finally realized, Louis was already shucking off his socks, nothing else on but his shorts, with the rest of his clothes in a heap on the floor.

 

Harry accounts his gawkiness undressing from the fact that ninety percent of the time, he’d be doing it on his back or he would have Louis helping him with it, not underneath him where Harry was worried about crushing him. The affection in Louis’ eyes never fades, though, and that’s just as much of a turn on as anything else.

 

He smiles and growls deeply in his throat, hugging Harry close as he climbs back on top of him. He kisses his neck, then his cheek, then his mouth. “You got this,” he tells him, still smiling. “Don’t think about it too much. Just try to remember how I do it.” Harry hums an affirmation and slowly brings their hips together. Even through all that’s happened, Harry has stayed at full mass, now extra hard and leaky. Louis— by no fault of his own— softened at Harry’s battle with his shirt, and now he’s growing hot and fast with Harry lying on top of him. That’s pretty sexy. It might even be swelling Harry’s ego.

 

Louis rolls his hips upward continuously, limbs twitching periodically at particularly strong pleasures. Harry, addicted to his sounds, needs to make more. He cranes his head down and licks around his pecs then takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks on it. Louis arches his chest toward him and gasps a pleasantly scandalized, “Harry.” He wraps his legs and arms around Harry like a koala, bringing him down on top of him to grind frantically against every nerve of skin he touches. Louis sparks the fire that consumes Harry like an explosion, and there’s suddenly a white-hot blaze in the pit of his stomach. Just a little kick, and he’ll be over the edge.

 

Louis bites on his neck and gives him a deep bruise, panting heavily through his nose. Harry no longer has sense of his actions as he humps into Louis, mouth stationary on Louis’ breastbone. His body wants it, and it’ll get it—

 

“Shit, Harry. Want you in me,” Louis gasps, “Want you to fuck me hard and _wreck_ me. Dominate me, Harry. Right now, just do it. _Now,_ ” and that’s why Harry comes. He squeezes his arms around Louis and breathes out his name with a whine, an, _Oh my god, did I really come already?_ But it’s so good. He thinks he might’ve gone blind for a second, and the breath is knocked out of him at its peak. He doesn’t realize that Louis stops moving and just groans and holds him down to feel Harry come.

 

When it’s over, he collapses fully onto Louis and closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. Again, the bastard laughs at him. “Wow,” he breathes smugly, running his hand through Harry’s sweaty hair, “Did I do that?”

 

Harry glares at him, even though he can’t see it. “You have,” he pants, swallowing hard and chest heaving, “a filthy mouth.” Louis _squeals_ at that.

 

“Thank you,” he smiles. “I mean... apparently, you like it.” Harry rolls his eyes and blushes. Louis laughs and pets him for a while, and just as Harry’s settling down and content, Louis speaks up, “Do you think you could maybe... get me off now? Please?” Harry picks up his head and Louis’ smiling sweetly and patiently at him, and Harry grins back at him and kisses him.

 

“Yes.” Harry scoots over a bit to reach his hand between them and grab Louis, tugging at his foreskin and making him wheeze.

 

“Do you think you could do it by fucking me?” he asks, right before a moan. Harry bites his lip and keeps stroking him, mulling it over. He still feels really nervous about it, and even though his heart hasn’t calmed down yet, he’s kind of fucked-out from that stupefying orgasm. He’s quiet for a while, longer than Louis wants, apparently, because he says, “It’s fine. I just want you to know that I do, you know. Want that. So whenever you’re ready. Or whenever you want to. You can.” Harry sighs and kisses his shoulder. His hand slips further down and he cups Louis’ balls for a second, then he inches further just to test it out, and Louis’ breath catches.

 

“...I want to,” Harry finally decides, saying a big, fat, _Screw it,_ to himself. Louis tugs at his hair until he looks up. There’s fondness and cautious excitement in his eyes.

 

“Now?” he asks, hopeful. Harry’s heart melts. How can he possibly say no?

 

“Yeah,” Harry beams, brushing Louis’ hair away from his forehead with his nose, there leaving a chaste kiss. Louis’ smile threatens to split his face, and he chews on his lips in a failed attempt to keep it down.

 

The fact that he’s so eager for Harry to do this only makes Harry want to do it more, and to make it good for him—the best. Louis wasn’t a virgin when they started dating, and through no cause of Harry. He was obviously okay with that—how was he supposed to be mad when he barely knew Louis, and when Louis wasn’t his, at the time? He was more than okay when he realized just how well Louis can pleasure someone, too. He confided in Harry once, when they first brought up the subject of switching positions, that he had only bottomed a singular time and that it wasn’t very good. Harry now wants to erase that memory from his mind and replace it with one created with him in it, where Louis can look back on the time where he let go and was taken care of so well, his mind was blown.

 

Harry lessens the pressure of the envelopment of his hand as he shifts, aware that Louis can hold back better than him, yet not wanting him to be distracted from what else is happening. At least, not yet anyway. Who knows what Harry will do that he’ll _want_ erased from Louis’ memory?

 

Louis starts tracing the contours, valleys and hills of Harry’s body again, slowly, sensually. Anything Louis does is laced with sensuality, really, but there’s a certain way he’s touching him that sucks the air straight out of Harry’s lungs and sends a rush of blood past his stomach. Harry places his knees where he’ll be able to reach all the areas he’ll need to, and Louis stretches to grab handfuls of the whole of Harry’s moderate ass, kneading his blunt nails into the skin. He tugs him down a bit and rises to connect groins again, and Harry’s yet again filling out. Once he deems that Harry gets the picture and he gradually lunges against him, Louis releases his ass and gently scratches his nails up Harry’s spine, dipping into the small of his back to elevate goosebumps like a sunrise, one following another until they span the entirety of his body.

 

Harry’s blood is molten in his veins, and Louis is using the light skim of sweat to ease his movements into fluid brush strokes. He cranes his neck up to kiss along Harry’s jaw and Harry moans into him, shivering uncontrollably at the gesture. He lets Louis go and props himself over him, rotating his head to the side and forward to give Louis better access. He feels Louis’ lips curve upward against his neck and he nips Harry, letting the flesh go to suck on it and taste with his tongue.

 

Harry knows that he should probably start prepping Louis now, considering it would be the time that Louis would with him, (it would’ve happened a lot sooner, actually) but he doesn’t have any lube around, doesn’t really trust his voice to ask for it, and he really just wants Louis’ mouth occupied with his neck instead of on his fingers (even though that could be pretty nice, too). He supposes he could suck on his own, and is just about to when Louis catches him as his fingertips come into contact with his teeth.

 

Louis glances at him again then pulls away and Harry whines pointedly. He just rolls his eyes and grabs Harry’s wrist with one hand, brining the digits into his mouth. It’s the hand that Harry was just jerking him off with—that, guiltily, being part of the reason Harry was about to slick himself—and if anything, Louis knows, and makes it very clear that he’d still rather be sucking Harry’s first and middle fingers and staring him in the eye while doing so than to even spare a thought about it.

 

He swirls his tongue in between his fingers and all the way down to his knuckles, making obscene slurping sounds that he sometimes purposefully uses while he’s attached to Harry’s dick, solely to make him squirm. Energy and the raw form of euphoria whorl in the pit of Harry’s stomach as he watches and fixates on the feel of what he’s doing. _Why_ he’s doing it is reiterated as Louis pulls the appendages out of his mouth, shiny with saliva, and says, “This should be enough. I don’t care if you don’t think it is. You don’t know what it’s like to imagine those damned long fingers fucking you for so long. I want them. Want them raw.” Then, as an afterthought, adds, “Please.”

 

Harry wants to scream. How in hell has he gotten so lucky to pick up a guy like him? He really, really will explode.

 

Louis’ words affect him like a nearing orgasm would, leaving him on edge and swept with approaching pleasure, never quite calming down or going that extra step. His guts are in knots and his ribs are vibrating from his drumming heart, wet fingers shakily making their way between Louis’ legs, fast between his cheeks, and probing at him. He jerks up quickly and Harry is about to pull away but first asks what’s wrong, because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to gain that confidence back to go in again if he has to pull out.

 

“Nothing,” Louis shakes his head, breathing out long through his nose. He makes eye contact to keep Harry grounded, for which Harry is thankful. He doesn’t move, and he keeps breathing until Harry can sense the tight ring of muscle relax and the tip of his index can push in. He’s hot, and tight, and velvety, everything and nothing at all like what Harry’s imagined. Louis holds his breath and concentrates hard on the dimple in Harry’s cheek, obliging himself to calm like Harry does. He doesn’t say anything else after that, and Harry has to focus on reading his reactions as guidance.

 

He doesn’t exactly know what to do. He gets the basics of what he’s supposed to accomplish, but he hasn’t a clue of how to reach that spot inside of him that, respectively, makes stars shine behind Harry’s eyes. So he just sticks to moving it around, and, for lack of better compensation, begins to kiss Louis’ shoulders again.

 

“Harry,” Louis whispers. He grinds down onto Harry’s hand impatiently, doing anything to get something of whatever Harry’s not giving. “Come on, just do it like I do. You know?” Harry’s mind freezes, and instead of remembering what that means, he can’t think of a thing to do. Louis continues on, trying not to show his frustration, even though his urgent wiggling and tiny grunts give him away. The only thing Harry thinks to do is add another finger, so he does. Tries. Louis tenses up from having nothing to a lot more than he expected, and makes it almost impossible. Harry waits, sweating from more than just heated lust, now.

 

The breath that Louis lets go of seems to do the trick and he’s shifting to get Harry to start moving again. “All right,” he says, voice thick and gently commanding, “Push it in.” Harry does with a little bit of hesitance, and small resistance from Louis’ part. Once it’s seated, both digits resting and awaiting further instructions, Louis sighs and tells him, “Now... fuck me with them. They won’t do much just sitting in there.” He lets out a small, strained laugh, almost imposed. Harry’s pulse quickens again, anxiety sneaking up on him.

 

He crooks them just to get Louis used to it (he thinks) then drags them in and out. Initially, the pull isn’t smooth with all the friction and inadequate lubrication, though Louis’ eyes still cloud over and darken, staring at Harry and then down between his legs. It allows for just enough confidence in Harry to let him pick up the pace and the hindrance isn’t as strong anymore. Soon he’s sliding in and out easily, making Louis’ abs clench and his breath shaky.

 

“See?” Louis just about laughs, breathlessly incredulous. “Fuck, Harry, you’re fine. Just fine.” A pinch of pride makes Harry smile into Louis’ neck. He tries to find Louis’ spot relentlessly, pushing in harder and further, while making certain that Louis is still enjoying himself, experimenting with scissoring and twisting. He doesn’t end up finding it, but Louis still praises him with an awed mumble of, “Fucking magic fingers.” It would be naive of him to think that Louis doesn’t know he’s not getting the full experience, however it doesn’t change the fact that Louis is writhing underneath him from his touch. “Okay, okay. I’m fine. I’m done,” he says anxiously, tapping Harry’s side and fisting his hair. “Please, now. I feel like I’ve been waiting for ever.” Harry complies.

 

In his franticness, he pulls his fingers out too fast and causes Louis’ face to pinch. He frowns and whispers against his temple, “Sorry.” Louis shakes his head and spreads his legs wide, shuffling for a moment to prop a pillow under his hips. He smirks at Harry’s wide eyes and new flush.

 

“You can make it up to me, you know,” he teases.

 

Harry gnaws his lip and openly stares at him. There are subtle teases that Louis gives Harry, drinking up the attention he’s under— he flattens out his stomach and breaths pointedly so that his ribs expand and every shallow inhale is visible, and he shivers until goosebumps litter his skin (Louis can make himself have them). His nipples perk up, too, and that’s just... hot. He appears to fight between grabbing onto Harry and fisting his hands into the sheets, and settles on five fingers cradling the nape of Harry’s neck and the others white knuckling in the blankets. Familiar, deep warmth illuminates Harry’s heart.

 

“I love you,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper. He swallows through his tight throat as he maneuvers his hips to line up with Louis.

 

Louis gives him the tenderest smile, eyes soft and fond. He tilts his head to the side a bit and gives Harry’s neck a squeeze. “I love you, too, Harry,” he responds, locking eyes with him. The smallest hint of a push gets Harry to lean down and kiss him on the mouth, soft and sweet.

 

If anything, this newfound height of intimacy only stresses Harry out more to make this absolutely _perfect_ for Louis. He holds himself up on one of his arms as he reaches down with his right hand to steady and guide himself into Louis. Louis’ torso tenses with fervor, looking like he’s going to chew a hole through his lip as he actually _watches_ Harry get his dick into place. Harry doesn’t think Louis even knows he’s subtly separating his legs further.

 

Harry takes one calming (well, supposedly calming) breath and goes for it, already feeling faint. He’s still not fully grown again from the first climax, which would be a mystery because of how well Louis arouses Harry if it wasn’t for his nerves. He has to close his eyes as he pushes in and clench his jaw. Louis still feels exceptionally tight and vaguely thinks that he’s not open enough for this; that he’ll hurt Louis. It makes him stop when he’s only a little in, and he glances to Louis’ face, afraid to ask in fear of what’ll come out of his mouth.

 

Louis’s eyebrows are pushed together, his white teeth are showing—they disappear for only a moment as he licks his lips—and there’s a bead of sweat sluggishly falling from his hairline. Harry isn’t sure what he looks like as Louis fucks _him_ , but if he has to guess, he’d say that this is what he looks like when the stretch is borderline maddening and he wants more, and less, and even more. Just to be safe, he moves forward the tiniest fraction, and waits again. Listens. Feels.

 

Now, air is coming from Louis’ nose in shallow successions, and his hand on Harry’s neck is insistent, and he takes his legs and bends them over Harry’s back, thighs plastering to Harry’s sides like magnets. His eyelids open a sliver and his pupils swallow most of his irises, leaving what’s visible to appear darker than usual. A personification of lust, he’s utterly gorgeous.

 

Harry slides his hips forward more, so agonizingly slow that Louis’ legs tighten around him multiple times to get him to jerk in. When he’s seated wholly, he pauses. _Holy shit_ , he thinks, his jangled thoughts parting to leave a path to one realization: _I’m inside Louis._ It’s less thrilling and more terrifying than he expects it to be.

 

There are faint whines sneaking into the air from beneath him, and Louis is wriggling just enough for him to notice. He still can’t tell if Louis is experiencing more pain than pleasure, and he still can’t ask him. It feels good to him—hell, it feels _amazing_ —but he’s so focused on Louis right now he hardly notices.

 

It turns out that Louis was being serious when he said that he wanted Harry raw. He's glistening with sweat and won't stop moving, obviously trying to feel Harry more now, whimpering and moaning delicately when Harry so much as breathes too hard. His eyes flutter open fully and they look between their bodies, he groans, and then they look up into Harry’s worried eyes.

 

“Babe, you’ve got to move,” Louis pleads, sounding desperate. “I need you to move.” When Harry doesn’t listen, at least not right away, Louis pushes his body down as hard as he can, demanding, “ _Move._ ” Harry’s brain snaps to attention and his hips thrust forward stiffly, still most likely not as hard as Louis would like. His boyfriend moans, anyway, and tightens his legs. “More,” he cries, moving both hands to scratch Harry’s back. “Please, Harry. You won’t hurt me. I just want more.”

 

He shuts his eyes and pulls out just enough to go back in. Louis is still clenching around him, though it’s indisputable how much he wants it because every jolt inside makes him loosen then squeeze. God, he’s such a cockslut for Harry it’s driving him _mad_.

 

His thrusts are weak compared to Louis’—and probably anyone else’s—and they’re sloppy and don’t have rhythm.  Louis tries to scoop his hips down to create a pattern but Harry’s muscles don’t want to accede, and go by their own accord, which isn’t usually a brilliant idea. Harry just feels overall strange. It’s not bad, per se, just different. He feels out of his element and he’s still rather stressed about the idea of it so he can’t really enjoy himself or let the sensation take over. He concentrates on _in out in out_ , and not the blissful look steadily claiming Louis’ features, nor the familiar sting of his nails welting his skin like he secretly likes.

 

He’s not trying to accommodate Louis’ assistance, either, so when Louis meets one of his thrusts like it’s second nature to him, Harry faults, surprised, and slips out. He panics, mortified, _Did I seriously just do that?_ and he’s paralyzed, ready to sprint off the bed and lock himself in the closet where he’ll stay again for a new sixteen years.

 

“Just get it back in,” Louis tells him gently, coaxing the frightened animal back to robotic calm. “Happens to me all the time, you don’t even notice.” Harry’s really not sure how true that is, and he’s almost positive that it’s a lie, but it’s a nice one, made for his benefit, so he deems the situation worthy enough for a second chance. He has to use his hand again to slip it back in, this time, sliding in smoothly. He gets a chance to see that Louis’ cock is twitching and still covered in Harry’s smeared semen on his stomach, and sudden passion rolls Harry’s body forward. It’s swift and good, apparently. Louis’ jaw slackens and his back arches off the bed a bit as he chokes out a, “Yes. Please, more like that.”

 

His hips aren’t as skillful as Louis’ (he totally would have made a fool of himself if he dressed as Shakira as Louis did last Halloween, instead of winning top costume at a party they went to like Louis did—he danced to “Hips Don’t Lie” and got money thrown at him and everything)(Harry was jealous) so he can’t swivel or undulate or even get the right angle to reach his sweet spot. Nevertheless, Louis is making noises that he’ll never forget, and he looks so inconsistent from his typical self beneath him (not to say that’s never happened, but even then he was still the one hammering into Harry’s ass), so vulnerable and maybe a little passive, which is a real treat. At this point, he’s all Harry’s, at his mercy.

 

His speed picks up after a while and Louis is getting _super_ restless now, sounds higher pitched, breaths heavier, eyes foggier. Harry slips out a couple more times but Louis stays silent about it each time and only gets more involved and enthusiastic when Harry is able to start again, which really means a lot to Harry.

 

Harry is exerting himself by the time that Louis grabs himself and begins to jerk off vigorously, and he’s so determined and pointed that Harry will just mess him up if he tries to help now. He thinks that’s okay when Louis tugs himself one last time and indents Harry’s shoulder with five crescent moons and gasps. His speechless cry bleeds into a deep-throated moan that’s much louder than any time before, considering there’s no one home to hear him. It’s a mixture of, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and, “Harry,” that brings him down to Earth again in one final slump against the mattress. His arms fall to his sheets, exhausted, his head lulls to the side, his eyes half closed, his mouth hangs open, and his legs slowly glide off Harry’s hips, no longer being held there so the sweat lets them simply drop.

 

Harry really, really just wants to stare at him until the end of time like this, but he can’t. Even worse, he can’t even get off on it, body too tired and distraught. So he pulls out one last time and Louis barely flinches. Since he’s not going for a second orgasm, he just sits himself beside Louis’ hips and clasps his hands together, staring at them. He knows, even without looking, that the air huffing out of Louis’ mouth is shaped by a lazy smile, yet he can’t take that and run with it. He’s disappointed in himself, and he doesn’t think that’s going to change. He can’t even bring himself to spare a glance in his direction, in irrational fear of mock or dissatisfaction in his eyes.

 

Things are silent and the air adulterated by Harry’s negative thoughts is thick, dropping his mood sufficiently. He hears Louis move first before he feels the bed dip and his hand reach around his lower back. “Hey,” he murmurs, grabbing his chin. Harry doesn’t move, and doesn’t resist Louis moving him, either. Harry doesn’t look up, even though he knows that’s what Louis wants.

 

Louis purses his lips and frowns, then leans forward and kisses Harry’s neck caringly, dotting his lips up the column of purpling flesh and on his jaw, his cheeks. Harry can’t help himself and melts, going pliable under Louis’ adoring attention. This makes it effortless for Louis to pull him down onto the bed adjacent from where he was lying a few moments ago. Louis hugs him from the side and kisses his dimple, provoking an indignant little smile from Harry that only made the dimple poke in more.

 

“Mmm,” Louis hums contently, rubbing his hand over a silly little tattoo of their very first words they said to each other that Harry once illegally got with him. “That was lovely. You really did fine, Harry. I know you don’t think that, but _wow._ ” Harry shrugs.

 

Louis forces a kiss to Harry’s lips until he puckers up and responds. He gives Harry another kiss. “Do you still love me?” Louis asks him then, looking him in the eye. Harry is unsure of the origin of the question but chuckles a bit.

 

“Yeah. Do—”

 

“Good,” Louis cuts him off, making sure he doesn’t get a chance to ask such a _stupid_ question, “because having a one-sided relationship would suck. I remember the days where you were oblivious to my advances, Harold. I do not wish to repeat them.” This time, Harry laughs unguardedly and genuinely and grabs Louis for a hug and whispers into his temple, “Thank you,” because Louis is really amazing. Just like that, like he knows, he takes some of the insecurities away from Harry and allows him to feel better about himself.

 

Louis grins and kisses his forehead and says that he needs to go clean up. Harry agrees, of course, and with a small blush because he knows how that is, being that it’s normally him who’s covered in both of them (and for the other reason that Louis’ reddened ass jiggles as he walks away). He figures he should probably do the same as he’s waiting for Louis’ return, but as he comes back in a fair amount of time, he’s clean and (still) naked, holding a damp hand towel in his hand. He crawls back onto the bed and wipes Harry down as well. Harry’s heart expands ten sizes.

 

Harry fishes out his boxers from his jeans at the side of the bed and pulls them on since he doesn’t like the feel of his blanket down there. Louis always sleeps in the nude, _especially_ when he’s with Harry, and he shimmies under the covers and pulls them over the both of them. He lets Harry stay where he is and curls his body over his, spooning his taller lover with a comfortable fit. Harry’s heart is strong and powerful through his back, and Louis can feel his own mimic his in his chest.

 

He presses his lips to the back of Harry’s neck and Harry sighs. “I love you. Thank you so much for that, Harry. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I love you so much.” Harry likes how Louis doesn’t try to sugar coat it by saying it was perfect or anything like that. No, he used real honesty, and that’s what made what he said special: he wouldn’t have changed how it went, even though it _wasn’t_ perfect and _wasn’t_ miraculous, because... Because it was with Harry, and they were together.

 

Harry’s happy with that. Very happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Hope you've enjoyed :)


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